


Completely Automated Public Turing test to tell Computers and Humans Apart

by PunishedPyotr



Series: Only Ones and Zeros [10]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Gen, Semi-Epistolary, attempted cyberbullying, bad typing, reupload, robot dyslexia, this is just general silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 12:43:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13788015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunishedPyotr/pseuds/PunishedPyotr
Summary: Why did they feel the need to make the computers in the virtual replica of the lab internet-capable? Was there an actual intended purpose, or is it just there as an easter egg? Actually, it's definitely just there as an easter egg. Get back to the mission, Raiden.





	Completely Automated Public Turing test to tell Computers and Humans Apart

“Eli, when did you learn how to type?”

“I didn’t. Next question.”

That explains a lot, actually. Mostly the part where Liquid pecks at the keyboard with one finger, looking appropriately embarrassed by his lack of skill in the twenty-first century. And the fact that he’s technically a computer himself nowadays. That doesn’t help.

“Is this because I have been busy with the girl lately?”

“Absolutely.”

Mantis gives him an unamused look, and Liquid just smirks at him in turn. He turns back to the email program, where he’s been drafting a letter. Just glancing at the screen, Mantis can see it’s in his usual style of writing - only a little more pretentious than how he usually speaks, with flawless grammar and phrasing, although his sentences run on and on and it’s obvious he doesn’t know where all the keys are without looking.

“Have you tried being a little more… casual?” Mantis says dryly, “that might help get your point across more agreeably.”

“Mm. Nevermind that, Mantis, I-“ he closes the email program, and stares at the screen for a good two seconds before leaning his elbows on the desk and rubbing his temples, realizing that he hadn’t saved the body of the message before doing that. “Tch… I hate computers, Mantis.”

“That’s ironic…”

“Shut up. Anyway, e-mail isn’t the only thing I’ve been trying out now that I’ve figured out that this VR program is _actually connected to the internet_ \- but see, I’ve been having some problems…”

He opens up the internet browser and, after a few moments of poking around, trying to figure out what it was he was doing again, and accidentally showing most of his search history to Mantis (mercifully it’s mostly either news sites, long strings of apparently unrelated Wikipedia articles, and videos that he’d probably found by searching random keywords — Mantis is marginally surprised that there are no porn sites in his search history, considering that’s what nearly everyone does as soon as they learn how to use Google, but with probably about 90% of Liquid’s libido artificially absent, it makes sense), Liquid goes to a site he’d evidently been trying to access and there’s a little red box on the screen.

“What is this,” Liquid says flatly.

“It is a CAPTCHA,” Mantis replies, “why?”

“…what does it _say_ , Mantis.”

“…can you not read it?”

Liquid’s face goes red. “I _know_ it’s _words_ ,” he says, his tone defensive, “I just- for some reason— I can’t _place_ what they are. Nothing comes to mind. I just don’t recognize them. It’s, it’s not even like they aren’t in a language I know or anything, I’m pretty sure they’re letters of the Latin alphabet, I just can’t… can’t figure out what letters they _are_ —-“

“You can’t read CAPTCHAs,” Mantis says incredulously.

“Look, I’m _trying_ , it just doesn’t… I… it doesn’t _look_ right. It’s like having a word just on the tip of my tongue but I can’t think of it, except with reading instead, and it happens _every time_ I look at one of these damned things. And I swear, every other website has them somewhere…”

“The shapes of the letters are not registering as letters to you?”

“I… er… no, not at all. I just can’t make heads or tails of them.” He pushes his chair roughly away from the desk, rolling several feet across the office floor before it comes to a stop when he plants his feet on the ground, petulantly crossing his arms and frowning. “It’s a little like trying to read someone’s really horribly incomprehensible handwriting - I suppose this thing here _could_ be this letter or that, but I just can’t seem to guess right.”

Mantis frowns also behind his mask. “What do you think this one says? Just give it your best attempt.”

Liquid squints at the screen for a moment, refusing to move any closer to the desk, then says, “‘cu’… no, ‘a’… ‘a-r-a,’ but the second ‘a’ is a different style of ‘a’, then a ‘ü’, then ‘Ne’ with a capital ’n’… no, maybe that’s an ‘-ive’…? ‘araüive’?”

“Not even close, Eli.”

“’cuaüNe’? Wait, ‘aralNe’. It’s _supposed_ to be nonsense, right?”

Mantis sighs. “What about the second word?”

“‘BEC’,” Liquid says confidently.

There’s a long pause.

Liquid puts his face in his hands and groans. “What does it _actually_ say?”

“’curative BBC’,” Mantis says.

“…fuck. Can we try that again?”

Mantis clicks refresh for him, not _entirely_ sure why he’s humoring him like this.

“‘deeb’… no, ‘deem lme’. Wait, is the second one an actual word, too? Is it ‘lame’?”

“Strictly speaking you were closer this time,” Mantis says, “but it says ‘olcott have’, not ‘deem lame’.”

Liquid grits his teeth. “What the _hell_ is an olcott?”

“A town in New York.”

“…refresh it, Mantis.” Mantis sighs and does so.

“‘mamhng CahvRc’. …oh, god damn it!”

“‘morning overlooks’.”

“What the hell _are_ these things?!”

Mantis sits on the desk next to the computer, which Liquid is now glaring at. “I forget what exactly ‘CAPTCHA’ stands for, but it is like a reverse Turing test. Many websites have them specifically to prevent computers - and yes, AIs like yourself - from accessing them, or at least posting comments and the like. That way, no one can attach a program to the site so that it adds a bunch of unnecessary comments or pageviews or things like that.”

“This is discrimination,” Liquid mutters. Then he says, “how does that even _work?_ Why can’t I read them?”

“Because even the most advanced AIs have really poor image processing, which is what reading text falls under.”

“But I can read all the books here just fine! The news sites, too! And Wikipedia!”

“All of that has plain, clear, consistent fonts. CAPTCHAs are distorted.” He grabs a piece of paper from nearby, makes a pen appear out of thin air, and jots down a few insignificant words - just a village name that he’d heard earlier today, in passing really, but it’s on his mind - then holds the paper out to Liquid. “What does this say?”

Liquid leans forward slightly, then sits back, huffing at the clumsy, childish scrawl. “You’ve always had atrocious handwriting, Mantis.”

“It is not my fault that you didn’t teach me how to properly read and write until I was in my teens.”

“And it’s not _my_ fault you never practiced your English letters. Try something in Cyrillic.”

“You don’t speak Russian. And that is not my point, my _point_ is that you cannot read handwriting now, either.”

“…”

Mantis crumples the paper up, frowning to himself again. “All those Wikipedia articles you read - you only knew what was depicted in most of the pictures because of the captions, didn’t you?”

“…yes. I just… had a hard time recognizing things. But I thought…”

“The consciousness is always limited by the bounds of the body it inhabits, Eli. In your case, your AI ‘body’ limits you with its unsophisticated image identification subroutine. It hadn't really occured to me until now, but if you were to get out into the real world somehow, you would have a difficult time navigating everything around you, because it would all look unfamiliar to you no matter how many times you’d seen it in life, or while you were with Ocelot, or even here.”

“Hmph.”

“Eli, just… think of it as a kind of dyslexia. It does not reflect badly on you - it does not mean you are _stupid_ — it just means you have a physical limitation.”

Liquid grumbles, fed up with the subject. Mantis turns off the computer (or, well, the facsimile of a computer within a real computer, anyway) and stands up. “We should find something else to do.”

“Let’s,” Liquid sighs, slumping in his chair.

* * *

Ever since shaking the Patriots out of the tree, and that whole thing with Raiden showing up drunk on their doorstep and then running off to find Olga’s kid himself, Snake and Otacon’s life has been extremely busy. So when Otacon is finally able to grab a chance to relax and watch a couple recent episodes of Sora Kake Girl he hasn’t seen yet, he gets really annoyed when his laptop softly chimes and indicates that he has a new email.

And, funnily enough, even though his computer is set up to automatically track the IP of whoever emails him, the sender in this case must be behind at least a couple proxies, because the IP trace comes back with multiple different ISPs and regions all at once. But that isn’t too unusual for the kind of people that email Philanthropy.

Of course, it’s not very often that Philanthropy gets email in the first place, let alone _now_ , after the organization has technically been dissolved. Raising an eyebrow, Otacon opens it up. 

> _From:_ aMqEI6zTCC4Pq9y@2Q2SBJMuHs.sTX1  
>  _To:_ hal_emmerich@philanthropyngo.ind.er
> 
> **Subject: Fuck you**
> 
> Why doesn’t Snake ehave his own e-mail address
> 
> Is it becaus e he doesn’t have hsif own name? That woudl make sense. Of cours ei’m sure he told you somethign about what his given name is but I’m certain he doesn’t even have a last name, I saw his files when I took over eFOXHOUND, THERE WAS NO there was no last lame listed in hi s files. There was no name, listeed in his files, Emmerich . at all
> 
> Regardless of that I’d like you oto pass on a message to him from mye, Emmerich. I’dll keep this short. tEll him I said to go kil himself. That’s right. “”Go kill yourself.” Burnf in hHell, Snake, you took everything from me. EVERYHTING
> 
> .I’m going to destryoy him.
> 
> And there isnt’ a damn thing you can do abtout that, Emmerich.
> 
> Of course I’m susre you can dhardly comprehend the nature of my grevience. Youd odn’t know what i’s klie to hav e evyerhting TAKEN frrom you in thte course of one night!!!!!! Oh certainly you’ve felt loss, I knwo about your stupid sister, of corues I know abotu your ssister, you told mE about her long befoer eyou ever todl Sake abotu her. Andnd now she’s dead!!!!!!!!! and aguess whose fault, that is, Emmerich!!!1
> 
> YOU could have prfevented her deaht the same way YOU coudl dhave prevented the death of all fo my teammeates. It’s YOUR fault Wolf died, I hoep you know that, Emmerich. But you HAD to help Snake, like that was “right “ thing to do. I hope you ‘re happy, playging right into that useless fuck Ocelot’s trpa like that. And continugign to do it, too ,for the next several years!! neven now1
> 
> Ifi it hadn’t been for you then all my friends would stil be a live adn aI wouldn’t have spent the past fourryears as a GODADAMN ARM..do you have any idea hwo bldooy hard it is s sto type,
> 
> ANwya tell Snake I said he should kill hismelf. this won’t be ekthe last opu’ll hear dfrom me, Emmerich

Otacon blinks at the screen slowly. Anything he might feel at the attempt to guilt him for Emma’s - and Wolf’s - deaths (not that he wasn’t already feeling guilt over it all, it's just that enough time had passed that he was already starting to come to terms with what happened) is drowned out by the absolute _awe_ in which in stares at the horrible, horrible typing.

“What’s going on over there?” Snake says from halfway across the _Nomad_.

“I’m getting emails from Liquid again.”

“Oh.”

“…at least he isn’t signing them ‘E.E.’ this time.”

Otacon decides to just ignore him, because he didn’t say anything remotely important. To be honest, if it wasn’t for the comment about being an arm, Otacon would have assumed that Liquid had gotten drunk… somehow… maybe that could happen if Ocelot knocked back a few shots of vodka? Anyway, all it really proves is that when Liquid sent that fateful anonymous tip that had lead to the tanker incident back in 2007, he must have spent a long time painstakingly typing it so Otacon wouldn’t question why his alleged sister had sent him something filled with flagrant typos, like here.

Or maybe Ocelot had helped him type it that time. Who knew? Ocelot _had_ definitely planned on getting Snake onto the USS _Discovery_.

Fifteen minutes later, Otacon’s computer dings again.

> _From:_ aMqEI6zTCC4Pq9y@2Q2SBJMuHs.sTX1  
>  _To:_ hal_emmerich@philanthropyngo.ind.er
> 
> **Subject: Don’t ingore me, Emmerich**
> 
> the eemail program says I have to type soemthing here

“Do you think I should reply to him?” Otacon asks Snake.

Snake shrugs dismissively. “I think you should block him.”

“He’s using proxies, I can’t just block him. Or at least, it’d be more of a hassle to keep him blocked than it would be to put up with his emails.”

“Hm… do you think he’d give away any information about where Ocelot is if you provoke him enough?”

“I don’t think he’s _that_ dumb. But I guess it’s worth a shot…” 

> _From:_ hal_emmerich@philanthropyngo.ind.er  
>  _To:_ aMqEI6zTCC4Pq9y@2Q2SBJMuHs.sTX1
> 
> **Subject: RE: Don’t ingore me, Emmerich**
> 
> Hi Liquid.
> 
> I’m not “ingoring” you. There just wasn’t anything in your last email that was worth my time replying to.
> 
> Isn’t it late? Shouldn’t you be asleep?
> 
> Otacon

> _From:_ aMqEI6zTCC4Pq9y@2Q2SBJMuHs.sTX1  
>  _To:_ hal_emmerich@philanthropyngo.ind.er
> 
> **Subject: RE: RE: Don’t ingore me, Emmerich**
> 
> I don’t need to sleep abymore, I’m dead. And its’ all Snake’s fault. DId dyou tell himw hat I said, Emmerich?

Otacon frowns. Maybe asking if it was late was a little too obvious of an attempt to narrow down what timezones Liquid might be emailing from?

> _From:_ hal_emmerich@philanthropyngo.ind.er  
>  _To:_ aMqEI6zTCC4Pq9y@2Q2SBJMuHs.sTX1
> 
> **Subject: RE: RE: RE: Don’t ingore me, Emmerich**
> 
> Why would I tell my best friend to kill himself?
> 
> Otacon 

 

> _From:_ aMqEI6zTCC4Pq9y@2Q2SBJMuHs.sTX1  
>  _To:_ hal_emmerich@philanthropyngo.ind.er
> 
> **Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: Don’t ingore me, Emmerich**
> 
> Because he kfilled all of fmyMY best firends? Wha tkind of stupid question is that?
> 
> Shame, I thgouth you were supposed to be the smartt one in your little NGO. Or rathere, former NGO. It was dissolved after the Bgi sdShell incident, wans’t it? Adter you and Snake weree xposed…
> 
> TO eb perfectly hoenst, I’m surprised the two of you are still alive . I woudl have thoguht that the Ｌａ Lｉ Lｕ Lｅ Lo woudls havethe Ｌａ Lｉ Lｕ Lｅ Lo. the Ｌａ Lｉ Lｕ Lｅ Lo.the Ptariots
> 
> I thigngk the computer “m using has a word filtere on it, do dy ou know how to disable it/ You’re good at this sort of thign, Emmerich

“…unbelievable,” Otacon says.

By now Snake is reading Liquid’s emails over Otacon’s shoulder. He seems as shocked and mildly confused as Otacon is.

> _From:_ hal_emmerich@philanthropyngo.ind.er  
>  _To:_ aMqEI6zTCC4Pq9y@2Q2SBJMuHs.sTX1
> 
> **Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Don’t ingore me, Emmerich**
> 
> You know, I’ve actually been trying to forget your awkward attempt at making friends with me on Shadow Moses before you started your takeover. It was really weird in retrospect, but this is just like that. Right down to the complete inability to stick to one topic of conversation for more than a few sentences at a time.
> 
> Why are you emailing me?
> 
> Otacon

 

> _From:_ aMqEI6zTCC4Pq9y@2Q2SBJMuHs.sTX1  
>  _To:_ hal_emmerich@philanthropyngo.ind.er
> 
> **Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Don’t ingore me, Emmerich**
> 
> What was so wrogn with me tryign to make friends with before the takeover started? The takeovoer hadn’t STARTEd yet, and besdies, I needed you i no rder tto get REx operational.. It woudl hav ebeen so much easier for all of us if you could fhave just cooperated from the starrte inst ead of neccesitating me lockign you in your office like that.
> 
> Beisdies, we have plenty in commfon.

 

> _From:_ hal_emmerich@philanthropyngo.ind.er  
>  _To:_ aMqEI6zTCC4Pq9y@2Q2SBJMuHs.sTX1
> 
> **Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Don’t ingore me, Emmerich**
> 
> I just don’t think “we both disliked our dead fathers” is a healthy thing to build a friendship on, man. Nevermind the fact that you’re a psychopath.
> 
> Otacon

“I didn’t know he tried to make friends with you,” Snake says, his eyebrows scrunching together.

“Well, he wasn’t exactly _successful_ ,” Otacon mumbles uncomfortably, “and you never really _asked_ what it was like between when FOXHOUND got there and when they brought the Genome Army in, so…”

“Hmm.”

The meandering email conversation continues for a while, with Liquid being aggressive but thankfully too poor a typist to send any message _too_ long, and Otacon being mostly… more exasperated than anything else. Eventually he figures out that holy crap, Liquid’s just _bored_ , isn’t he, and he and Snake have a muttered exchange about how Liquid really must be winning out over Ocelot if he can stay in control of their shared body long enough to spam Otacon like this.

As much as Otacon tries - and as many suggestions as Snake gives - they’re both unsuccessful in getting Liquid to imply anything about his location and/or his plans other than killing Snake and taking down the Patriots, not necessarily in that order. The most they really got was a slightly out of place comment about taking revenge on Big Boss, but since it was _Liquid_ they were talking to, it really didn’t come across as any kind of clue.

“You can answer it in the morning, Otacon,” Snake yawns as Otacon’s laptop chimes out an incoming email alert yet again.

“Technically it’s _already_ morning, Snake,” Otacon replies, but he closes his laptop anyway. Yeah, he really should be getting to bed. Sleep is good.

When Otacon wakes back up several hours later, he finds that Liquid had sent him a couple emails in rapid succession with subjects like “ANSWERR ME!!!!!!” “why ar e you ignroing me????” “yrou mother was sa fucking lesbian ,Emmerich” and “ddid you go to sleep?”. Then he’d apparently signed off for the night, as after a certain point he’d stopped.

Although a self-pitying comment he made about how he only gets to talk to one person, ever, who’s evidently also neglecting him, piques Otacon’s interest, and he shoots an email back.

> _From:_ hal_emmerich@philanthropyngo.ind.er  
>  _To:_ aMqEI6zTCC4Pq9y@2Q2SBJMuHs.sTX1
> 
> **Subject: RE: ddid you go to sleep?**
> 
> What do you mean you only get to talk to one person ever? Can’t you talk to other people when you take over Ocelot’s body?
> 
> I can’t believe I’m asking this, but are you okay?
> 
> Otacon

To his surprise, Liquid emails back within five minutes, but as far as Otacon’s concerned it’s a low priority and he doesn’t actually read it for another twenty.

> _From:_ aMqEI6zTCC4Pq9y@2Q2SBJMuHs.sTX1  
>  _To:_ hal_emmerich@philanthropyngo.ind.er
> 
> **Subject: RE: RE: ddid you go to sleep?**
> 
> id don’t need your sympathy, Emmerich. Bu tno. No i’m not.
> 
> It’s all sSNake’s fault, really

Otacon rolls his eyes. 

> _From:_ hal_emmerich@philanthropyngo.ind.er  
>  _To:_ aMqEI6zTCC4Pq9y@2Q2SBJMuHs.sTX1
> 
> **Subject: RE: RE: RE: ddid you go to sleep?**
> 
> Can’t you harass Ocelot instead of spamming me?
> 
> Otacon

 

> _From:_ aMqEI6zTCC4Pq9y@2Q2SBJMuHs.sTX1  
>  _To:_ hal_emmerich@philanthropyngo.ind.er
> 
> **Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: ddid you go to sleep?**
> 
> that’ isn’t exactly an otption anymore. ewhat does “Sapmming” mean?

“‘That isn’t exactly an option anymore’?” Otacon reads out loud. “Snake, you don’t think something happened to Ocelot, do you?”

“What do you mean?” Snake says.

“I’m not sure… maybe Liquid managed to completely bury Ocelot’s ego? That’d be pretty consistent from what we’ve heard of him lately… and put out that cigarette, Snake.”

“Grmph.”

Otacon can’t get Liquid to clarify, though, because he keeps changing the subject. Once again it’s pretty clear that Liquid has no real goal with this emails, considering he’s not trying to get any information out of Otacon and honestly just seems bored and, apparently, lonely. Or maybe he’s playing a subtler game than Otacon thinks.

With that in mind, and the fact that Otacon hasn’t even narrowed down what side of the planet Liquid might be on right now, let alone any useful intel, Otacon mentally bumps Liquid’s emails back down the priority list and only reads and answers them when he as a spare moment, which isn’t too often.

The way that Liquid always responds immediately (or as close to immediately as he can come, considering how slowly he must be typing) eventually makes Otacon suspicious.

> _From:_ hal_emmerich@philanthropyngo.ind.er  
>  _To:_ aMqEI6zTCC4Pq9y@2Q2SBJMuHs.sTX1
> 
> **Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: ddid you go to sleep?**
> 
> How are you replying to my emails so fast? Don’t tell me you’re just sitting in front of the computer all day, I’m sure you have other things to be doing. (Not that it wouldn’t be better for us if you were wasting all your time on the computer…)
> 
> I’d think that whatever you’re doing has something to do with computers, except you’re so obviously incompetent at them that if that were the case, then we’d have nothing to worry about. Did you ever figure out how to turn off that word filter?
> 
> Otacon

 

> _From:_ aMqEI6zTCC4Pq9y@2Q2SBJMuHs.sTX1  
>  _To:_ hal_emmerich@philanthropyngo.ind.er
> 
> **Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: ddid you go to sleep?**
> 
> Waht the hell is THAT supposed to bmean, Emmerich?
> 
> O focurse I’m not sitting in front fo the computer all day. I jstus know whenever I get an email. I’m not RUDE like yopu are, so naturally I immediately start draftugng my rseponse as soon as posisble.

“I’m not sure I believe that,” Otacon mumbles to himself. But it’s true that he can’t really see Liquid spending any significant amount of time, really, on a computer. Even if he needed something with it, he had always made someone else do it. And despite the weird off-hand comments about him being isolated, Otacon’s still pretty sure that Liquid/Ocelot would _have_ someone around to do it for him.

It occurs to him that maybe he isn’t speaking to Liquid. Not the real one, anyway. It’s mostly that he’s just remembered that Raiden went through VR of Shadow Moses - and in order for that to exist, there had to be at least rudimentary AIs of the members of FOXHOUND for him to fight. Had someone gotten ahold of the Liquid Snake AI and modified it to be an email spambot? It wouldn’t be that hard, really, the parameters for ‘in-character’ here really could just be ‘hostile and easily offended’, and Otacon himself could probably write a Java program to convert normal responses into poorly-typed ones in about fifteen minutes or less.

But what would the end goal here be? Just throwing Otacon and Snake off? And some rando with an appropriated AI program wouldn’t necessarily know about the “GODADAMN ARM..” thing.

> _From:_ hal_emmerich@philanthropyngo.ind.er  
>  _To:_ aMqEI6zTCC4Pq9y@2Q2SBJMuHs.sTX1
> 
> **Subject: Quick question.**
> 
> I’ve been giving you the benefit of the doubt this whole time, but at this point I want proof that you’re really Liquid. Sending a picture of yourself with your shoe on your head is the standard for that. Do you have a webcam? Do you know how to work it?
> 
> Otacon 

 

> _From:_ aMqEI6zTCC4Pq9y@2Q2SBJMuHs.sTX1  
>  _To:_ hal_emmerich@philanthropyngo.ind.er
> 
> **Subject: RE: Quick question.**
> 
> DO you think I’m some kind ofidiot, EMmerich? Of coursei ‘m not going to send you a paicutre of myself. You just wnat to see if you can figure out whre I am fromt the background of it!

Well, he’s not wrong, but truthfully Otacon mostly wanted to see Ocelot with a cowboy boot balanced on his head.

> _From:_ hal_emmerich@philanthropyngo.ind.er  
>  _To:_ aMqEI6zTCC4Pq9y@2Q2SBJMuHs.sTX1
> 
> **Subject: RE: RE: Quick question.**
> 
> Fine, if that’s not how you want to do it, there are other ways of verifying your identity.
> 
> Otacon
> 
> _Attached file:_

* * *

Mantis returns to the Shadow Moses VR after several days of being harassed by the Patriots. He appears in the labs, and is… actually somewhat unsurprised to find that the monitor to the computer that Liquid had been using when he threw a hissy fit over CAPTCHAs is currently smashed on the floor, and the computer itself has several bullet holes in it. Mantis doesn’t even _know_ where the keyboard is.

“Bad day?” Mantis says when he eventually finds Liquid, lying on a couch in a breakroom on the other side of the base.

“I’m adding Emmerich to my hit list,” Liquid says firmly.

**Author's Note:**

> Liquid's guesses at the CAPTCHAs came from me taking off my glasses and putting my laptop a few feet away from me, and then trying to read them. So the nonsense he thinks the CAPTCHAs say are, strictly speaking, plausible answers.
> 
> Despite all my "horrible typist, just horrible" jokes, I literally wrote Liquid's emails by typing just a tick faster than I usually do and not editing the typos out. So yes, rest assured that my fics _are_ edited, people. If they weren't, they'd look kind of like _that_.
> 
> Also I downloaded this font called Moons of Jupiter, Io for Mantis' handwriting.
> 
> ((any and all comments will be forewarded to aireyv! i will either copy/paste their reply to me or they will reply on their own account! have a nice day!!! if you have any questions, just ask!!!!)


End file.
